[ N o p i c t u r e s , j u s t w o r d s ]
I’ve been adulting quite hard since my last update, so I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to a short break before the Festival hits.
In between prepping the house for the sitter, vet visits and job interviews, living this far out of town with no licence and no surrounding help inside working hours is an absolute pisser. Buses are easy enough to get, but unfortunately when you have medicated animals, one of which is pilled every 8 hours, you are literally stuck between the rock and the hard place of working around other people’s schedules in order to enact your own. Which, currently, is housebound.
I’ve held off properly talking about the fallout from uni probably because I didn’t come to terms with it until the last month or so. Except for bits here and there, I’ve never expressed how lame my existence has been since the top of 2014, online or out loud. And because, largely, it’s not very interesting, so I promise this is the last I will ever mention it. Some people would probably relish the idea of being paid to live at home for two years, with or without health problems and home-security concerns inclusive, but without the opportunity of escape – real escape – it may as well be house arrest.
And it’s the effect it and the last two years has had on my mental health. Now that my body is beginning to heal itself and find some sense of normality again, I’ve finally recognised that part of the skin treatment I’ve been going through has been acting as a depressant, to the point where other people had started to notice. Obviously I said “yup, I know“. The thing is, I’ve felt miserable for a long time – this particular strain of meds just made it worse. (But obviously I didn’t admit that out loud).
When someone refuses to leave your home, when they refuse to leave your life through the same hole they came in by, when they retreat to their pathetic excuse of a haven and bring out the “big guns” – court – all because their ex-partner couldn’t stand to be in the same building as them, it’s rage-inducing. An alcoholic depressive, who has battled with mental problems all of their life and a pretty dysfunctional upbringing, should theoretically pull at the proverbial heart strings but it doesn’t. Why? Because it doesn’t matter how broken you are or your background was, there is no excuse in existence that will justify hurting other people. Period.
But, alas, this is the kind of moron that believes the world is out to get them because god forbid anything is ever their fault.
I have a real disdain for alcoholics that think it’s all a big joke, or those who suffer from a mental problem that has an impact on those around you when untreated. It’s a choice to get help. It’s also a choice to actively not get help – why they choose to surround themselves by people they claim to love but continue to hurt I will never understand. Maybe that’s callous – but this person spent 7 years grinding someone very close to me into the ground, and still had the audacity to take them to court on grounds of “well I deserve half of everything that is theirs because this break-up clearly has nothing to do with me“.
I mean what else would a controlling and emotionally abusive person do when that control is taken from them?
It’s obviously not their fault the relationship ended, is it?
I couldn’t speak about the year-long bollocks we had to go through at the time because a) court, and b) how do you even begin to drop that into conversation? Go through a year of silence, alone in the home they spent three months coming back to with no warning and genuinely believed they were entitled to (they weren’t), having no sense of real security even with the changed locks, and tell me you can come out of that 100% ok.
September last year, I chose to focus on me. I joined a writers group, started aerial silks, worked with three festivals, and now have a potential fourth on the cards. I’ve lost nearly 10lbs of the weight and muscle I accidentally gained to compensate for the amount I’d unintentionally lost, leaving 6lbs to go to hit my usual weight, and had an audition with a well-known theatre last week (the project looks super exciting). I sought treatment for my physical chaos, I’ve gotten a better handle on my blog once again, and I’m feeling a lot more optimistic about the future than I was this time last year. Day by day, the cloud is lifting.
I did what I needed to, and I’d do it again…while quietly hoping I never have to.
What have you ever had to do to pick yourself back up? If you ever need a pep-talk, give me a shout!